


This is Home.

by SeaSaltStar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Basically nothing after Civil War, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Peter Parker, Hydra!Peter, Kidnapping, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Parental Figure Tony, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, brain washing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaSaltStar/pseuds/SeaSaltStar
Summary: He was an efficient weapon. He never failed. Never faltered. He knew his mission. He knew his objective. Get in, Get out. Be invisible. Don't get caught. And if he did get caught? He knew what he had to do. Eliminate the Avengers or Eliminate himself.





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, Y'all! I fell into the hole that is Marvel again, and the whole Hydra Peter got me falling HAAARD and I'm itching to write my dark little ideas onto paper. This is the first time actually posting my stories ever so hope it doesn't suck. Hopefully, this makes me actually write this as it's killing me to keep it to myself. I was heavily inspired by other badass authors on here, and I'll post them at the end so y'all can check them out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and if you don't, well, then at least I'm providing some actually great works to read instead.

He saw the door wide open. He saw an escape a few feet from him. He could get out.

He could go _home_.

He didn’t think about what he would do once he was actually out of his cell. He didn’t know the schematics of the building. They’d transferred him from the interrogation room to this cell with his head covered. It was smart on their part, knowing that’d he’d be able to remember the layout with only one glance. It did, however, put a wrench in his escape plan but he could improvise. He had to, his life depended on it. His _sanity_ depended on it. He picked a direction and ran. The hallway was long, littered with unimportant things and closed doors. He paid no mind to any of it. The colors were too bright, his blood pumping in his ears too loud, his breath labored, and his senses screaming at him to run.

He took too sharp a turn and skid against the slippery floor. This hallway was shorter, and he reached the end in mere strides. Something unknown bubbled in his chest and he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from panicking. _Buildings always have a staircase. It’s part of their building code, safety purposes._ All he had to do was find it.

His eyes scanned the area, darting from object to object, never staying on one thing for too long. Finally, they landed on what he needed to his left tucked in a corner behind a tall plant and he felt himself relax a fraction. A little sign with bold letters spelling “stairs”. He swore he could’ve cried at the sight. Wasting no more precious time, he pushed through, the heavy door slamming against the wall. He absently thought it would leave a dent as he ascended skyward. He took the stairs three at a time, traversing from one floor to the next as fast as his legs could carry him. He had to get out, he couldn’t stay here. If he did-

An alarm above him started blaring. His breath hitched in his throat. He had to hurry. He hoisted himself onto the railing, balancing on the balls of his feet. He catapulted himself up the last two flights, overshooting and falling over the rail, slamming onto his extended hand with a loud crack. He briefly recognized that he had broken his ring and pinky finger when he tried to catch himself. He elected to ignore it, for now, scrambling to his hands and knees. He reached for the door and pushed it open as he straightened back up.

The sunlight was warm on his skin, but he shielded his face. It was too bright, his eyes burned, his vision blurred. So close, he was _so close_. He slowly staggered towards the light at the end of the helipad, a runway of hope. He was almost there. Almost out. Then the doors at the end started to close, and his heart dropped to his stomach. He cursed under his breath and broke out into a full-on sprint. He could make it, he was fast, he knew he could make it. He had to make it. He got closer and closer and he let a smile split his face. He was almost there, he was almost free, he was almost, _he was almo_ -

His face met the ground hard. He felt his nose bend awkwardly and the wind was knocked from his lungs. He yanked his head up, black spots dancing in his vision, as he gasped for air. _What the fuck had just hit him?_ He pushed himself up onto his forearms, a weak attempt to army crawl away only to be forcibly pushed back down again with the full weight of his attacker. He watched as the last rays of the sun slipped behind the metal doors, effectively locking him away. He let a sob escape his lips, broken, weak and _scared_.

He was trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Just a little taste, I hope it wasn't terrible. I have no idea what I'm doing or how to work this site, so bear with me as I figure it out.  
> Authors that are amazing who've inspired me to write this, and have written amazing works on Hydra!Peter are:  
> @tnyystark  
> @Honorable_mention  
> @viviixen  
> @trashystories
> 
> I'll add more when I read them because inevitably, I will. Til next time!


	2. Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Thank y'all for the kudos! I'm happy to see y'all are enjoying. I work a full-time job cuz I, unfortunately, have to adult so I'll probably work on the chapters and edit them during the week for posting on the weekends. Hopefully, I can do a chapter both Saturday and Sunday. Anyway, enjoy a chapter with a little more meat to it!
> 
> Content Warning for Description of Mild Violence and Gore

The clouds floating over Vaduz, Liechtenstein were unwelcoming. Dark, and angry like someone had angered the gods above. He took a moment to smell the air. Crisp, clean, and _cold_. The first snow was coming, and it would not be kind. It didn’t come often in this area, but when it did, it left the locals scrambling to accommodate the sudden change. He didn’t mind though. He almost appreciated its presence. If only for the reason it made being tracked that much more difficult for those who would chase him. Not that it would matter in the end. The job was always done and he halfway back to the compound by the time anyone discovered the aftermath of his handy work. A blanket of snow would cover the earth by then and he would have disappeared without a trace. Though, if he were being honest with himself, he sometimes wished that he would be caught. It got boring killing easy targets, and while the guards often supplied were weak, he enjoyed when they put up a fight.

It was never much of one, but never the less.

His target was roughly fifty meters away, hiding in a mansion perched on the side of the mountain. It overlooked the town below and gave off the air of someone important. That whoever lived high above the little people was someone to be respected. To be feared. In the back of his mind, he scoffed at the concept.

He shifts forward on the balls of his feet, perched precariously on a branch. The wood groans softly under his weight. This far in the mountains, it was hard to traverse on foot for the average human. While he was no average human, traveling from tree to tree was much quicker. Plus, he was happy to be able to stretch his legs. He didn’t get many chances back at the compound. The training area was nowhere near large enough for that.

In one swift motion, he pushes off the branch to the next vacant tree. His landing was graceful, quiet. Impossible to tell that someone was advancing from above. He continued his forward motion, closing the distance between the target and himself. Forty meters. Thirty meters. Twenty-five meters. Three meters. He drops his body lower from his last jump to grasp a branch farther down on the tree. He hangs for a moment, looking at the area below. He could see his entry point. Third floor, second window to the right, West side. He identifies three guards, chatting mindlessly at each. The corners of his lips twitch up. How utterly useless humans were.

He knew his mission. He knew his target. It was time for the execution.

He releases his grip and plummets down to earth, landing on his feet in a crouched position. Twigs crunch under his boots and he quickly ducks behind the trunk. He waits, patiently listening to the men standing guard less than two meters away. They don’t even turn their heads to the noise, probably assuming a small animal rushed by. _Truly useless_. He straightens himself and advances from the south side. The guards stood to the West, in front of his entry point. He reaches the building and rechecks the perimeter. No one from the East, no one from the West. He was clear. Placing his palm on the side wall, hand outstretched, fingers bent at their DIP points, he scales up the side. He’s quick to do so, moving swiftly as to not be detected. He’s careful to avoid the windows and keeps an open ear to what’s going on around him. He reaches the roof, and hoists himself on top, keeping his body low. He silently approaches the edge of the building and peers down again at the guards. They have their backs turned to him, still continuing their conversation. He hears someone from inside the mansion moving underneath him. He flattens himself to the roof, listening intently. “Come inside now!” a deep voice calls in thick German. “I don’t pay you to talk, I pay you to protect me!” He knows that voice.

_Target Acquired._

The guards mutter obscenities to themselves as they enter, slamming the door behind them. He waits for the footsteps to fall deeper into the building. Slowly, he confirms the area is clear for him to move out. The only things left outside are himself and the wind. He makes haste of his actions, crawling down to his entry point. He throws his legs down, righting himself and hangs on by one hand. Briefly, he pauses to look back up at the clouds. He should get inside, the snows about to fall. He reaches for the window and tests to see if it will open. With a light push, it does. Truly, this mission couldn’t be any easier if he wanted it to be. Pushing the window the rest of the way, he lowers himself into the room. He keeps them slightly open for a quick getaway later. He stands up to his full height now and recognizes it's the main bathroom. He scans the area taking note of the obnoxious amount of gold appliances in the room. From the handles to the sink, all glistening in the fluorescent lighting. He finds it distasteful. He walks to the open double doors that lead into the master bedroom across the room.

It isn’t much better. Every piece of furniture dark mahogany with gold-leaf wallpaper stretching to the ceiling with a gigantic crystal chandelier illuminating the room. Pushed up against the wall in the middle of the room is a bed, with a large canopy stretching almost as tall as the ceiling. It's adorned with maroon silk sheets and more pillows than ever necessary. The headboard has intricate hand carvings etched into it. Carvings of HYDRA’s emblem. He’s disgusted by the imagery. How dare this traitor still sport their emblem. He wonders, what punishment he would receive for burning the building to the ground? He briefly thinks that it might actually be worth it.

Heavy footsteps approaching his location jolt him out of his thoughts. He launches himself to the main door, flattening himself onto the wall. The door swings open towards him, effectively concealing him from the new arrivals. The man who steps into the room first is large. Easily two times his height and three times his muscle mass. His hair buzzed short, and black suit straining to contain his biceps. One of the guards he’d seen outside. Trailing by his side, and ultimately passing him by is the target. Maxwell Eisenhardt. A short, stout man with golden hair and a finely tailored white suit on. He was one of HYDRA’s higher paying sponsors. Until he decided to start selling sensitive information to the enemy. “Ha! One hundred thousand francs for information on a silly side project. American’s are just as stupid as they say.” Maxwell cackles, strolling towards his bed. “If I had known that the mere mention of mixing animal DNA with serum would make me that much, I would’ve mentioned it sooner.”

_Information breach confirmed. Eliminate the target._

He slams the door shut and lunges forward. The guard turns on his heel, reaching for his gun in his breast pocket. He grabs his hand, twisting the guard’s arm all the around effectively break his arm at the elbow. The guard drops to his knees screaming. He reaches around his head and in one swift motion breaks his neck. He steps to the side as the guard falls to the floor with a loud thud. He looks to his target and for a moment he basks at the fear in his eyes. Maxwell chuckles nervously backing away. “So,” he begins reaching for his hidden gun behind his back. “My extracurriculars have made it back to the big heads. They’ve even deemed me dangerous enough that they’ve set the Recluse to dispose of me.”

Why do his targets always ramble before he kills them? Perhaps it's their way of giving a last will and testament? Or maybe they think if they talk long enough he’ll forget about his mission? He slowly advances forward, and Maxwell points the gun at his head. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, even with imminent danger right in front of him. “You know, you’ve been compared to that of the Black Widow. Some say you’re even more deadly.” Maxwell's finger shakes over the trigger. “They must be mad! A child like you couldn’t-” The guns pointed at his target know, barrel set between his eyes. He really did get bored of the rants. Maxwell swallows hard and he can see the sweat rolling down his face. He stares into his target’s eyes and admires the flecks of green that dance around his pupil in the otherwise blue iris. “P-Please, I have a wife. A little girl! You can’t take her father away!” He tilts his head, puzzled by the statement. Again, why do his targets _always_ ramble?

The sound of the gun firing echoes in the small room. Brain matter and blood splatter onto the headboard and wall. He watches as his target’s eyes roll into the back of his skull and his body falls onto the bed. He shifts to the side to get a better look at his handy work. A small simple hole rests in between his two eyes. From the front, it doesn't look like much, but he knows from experience, and the amount of gore on the wall, that the complete back of his head is gone. There were still locks of hair attached to the chunks on the bedspread. He absentmindedly thinks the wall looks better with the additional speckles of red on the gold-leaf. It tied the room together nicely. He drops the gun onto the bed next to the body. No trace of him would be left behind. Like he was never there to begin with. He’s climbing out the window when he hears the bedroom door open and a small voice calls out, “Daddy?”

He can still hear the little girl’s horrified screams even though he's miles away now. He notes how the sound makes him feel ill. The first snow is falling as he flies through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no concept of how distance works lol Thanks again for reading! Have a great week y'all!


	3. Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for graphic description of torture

He’s already crossed the border into Austria when his ride picks him up. An unassuming van, the engine already running, sat on the outskirts of the forest’s edge. The door opens for him and his handlers are waiting on either side. He clicks his heels together, crosses his fist to the opposite shoulder and stands at attention. “Mission report.” It’s more a command than a question from the man to his right. “Information breach confirmed. Target eliminated, sir.” He stares straight ahead, not making eye contact with either man. He stares down a dent in the wall of the van. It’s from one of his first missions when he did make eye contact. He was lucky he walked away with only a concussion rather than a cracked skull. His world spun the entire ride back to the compound. “Good.” He can see the smirk out of the corner of his eye. The man to the left steps out and barks in a deep Russian accent “Get in.” He nods and grabs the edge of the van, hoisting himself in. The door shuts behind him.

He sets to the back of the van. He nestles himself between the semi-automatic rifles and a metal box he knows is filled with ammunition of various kinds and grenades. He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his thighs, and rests his chin on top. Again, he trains his eyes straight ahead, staring down the point where the floor and wall of the van meet. The white paint is chipping away to reveal the metal beneath. There’s a snort from the front of the van. “Like that, it’s hard to believe you’re a weapon.” His handler laughs. He risks a side glance to the man settling up front. Mitch is his handler for his missions outside the compound. Ironically, he’s American and he would be the poster boy for the perfect man in America. Six foot three, flowy brown hair swept up into messy side part, and dreamy green eyes that you get lost in. He was charismatic and always had a bright and welcoming smile on his face. People were drawn to him, felt safe with him.

Which always made interrogations and torture easier.

He remembered the first time he’d watch Mitch during an interrogation. The women he had was the secretary for the CEO of a major company working with SHIELD. He had her on knees, arms pulled behind her keeping her suspended at an uncomfortable angle. The women’s suit was torn to shreds and her high heels long since lost. Her red hair hung around her face and was almost as brilliant as the black eye that had blossomed on top of her cheekbone. Every time she gave a wrong answer, Mitch would take his foot and push down in between her shoulder blades. He remembered how shrill and high pitched her screams were, it felt like his ears were going to bleed. Mitch cooed at the women and promised that the pain would stop as soon as he got the answer he wanted. When he did finally get it, Mitch had wiped the women’s tears away and praised her for doing so well. Then he got behind her, grabbed both of her arms and pulled as he pushed her body down with his foot. Her shoulders dislocated from their sockets with a sickening pop. She was left hanging there for five minutes screaming and crying until he put a bullet through the back of her head.

It wasn’t until the shrieks had finally stopped that he had realized that he was drenched in a cold sweat and his nails had broken the skin of his palms from clenching so hard. He knew better than to fall for Mitch’s charms. Twice.

“We have to get moving.” He quickly averted his eyes, looking back at the chipped paint when he heard the door open and slam. “It’ll take an hour to get to the rendezvous point.” Adrik was his handler on the compound. What he lacked in charm he more than made up for in pure brutality. He was one of their best soldiers and was still out in the field doing missions when he was needed. He was only a few inches shorter than Mitch but more muscular than him. He was clean-shaven, hair buzzed short and face always set in a grimace. His face and arms were littered with battle scars from over the years. One scar stretched from the top of his eyebrow through his eye all the way to his chin. It made his otherwise almost black eye, an unseeing milky white. He once asked how he had got that scar. The question earned him a one on five match with the newest experiments with a torn apart arm and a broken ankle.

“Right, right. Let’s get a move on then.” Mitch says, waving the man’s anger off. The van jerked forward as they pulled away. He continued to stare at his designated spot, unmoving. As it always was, they would drive to the rendezvous point, Mitch would then transfer to another vehicle, and he and Adrik would continue onto the compound in an quinjet. During that hour he would not move, he would not speak, he would not think. He would stay quiet. That’s how it always was after a mission. It's part of his training to do so. It was harder in the beginning. He used to be very fidgety, would always shift every couple minutes. He would even go so far as to speak out of turn. The punishments for that was extra testing in the lab. He quickly learned to keep his mouth shut and to stay quiet.

It was much easier now. He would pick his little spot of the van to stare at and just forget the world around him. It always seemed to work. He only realizes that the time has passed when the van stops abruptly. He blinks a few times to readjust and looks to the front of the van. Adrik is already halfway out of the van, Mitch not far behind.

Slowly, he uncurls himself from his position on the floor and pushes his body up. His bones pop and muscles groan in protest. He walks to the van door and pulls it open. Waiting for him outside is a very expensive car and a beat-up old quinjet. He walks toward the quinjet and stops just before the ramp. He turns his back to the entrance, standing at attention. He’s not allowed to enter until his handler has. Adrik and Mitch are standing by the car, discussing something that he cannot hear. He watches as Mitch claps Adrik on his shoulder like they were good friends and slips into the expensive car. Adrik stalks back to the quinjet, walking straight past him. He turns and follows, always two steps behind his handler at all times. The ramp closes behind them with some effort. Adrik goes to the front of the jet to speak with the pilot while he settles, again, toward the back. He sits on the last seat, farthest away from the front.

Underneath in a net for storage is a worn-out backpack. He reaches under and pulls out the navy-blue bag. He unzips it and views the contents within. He was allowed to bring a small collection of items with him whenever he left the compound. He was allowed a journal with a pencil, a pre-approved book, a bowie knife, and his hoodie. They had only allowed him to keep it so that he could keep warm since he was often always cold, but he didn’t remember a time when he didn’t have his hoodie. His hoodie was a burgundy pullover with a pouch in front. The left string’s aglet was thoroughly chewed and substantially longer than the other. He took his hoodie out of the backpack and pulled it over his head, letting it settle onto his body. It was way too big for him but he didn’t mind.

The quinjet lurched, and they ascended into the air. It would take five hours for them to make it back to the compound. That gave him plenty of time to write his report. He pulled out his journal with the pencil shoved inside. He opened it gingerly. The spine was badly broken, and its cover was pulling up at the edges. He flipped to the next available page where his pencil was and started writing. The journal was used as a record of sorts. He was to write down his daily routine, his missions, his thoughts. Anything that happened to him and anything that he felt, he was required to document. It was important for his handlers to know what was going on and to keep track of him. It was important to know when he needed reprogramming.

He wrote out his mission in excruciating detail, down to the chunks of flesh with hair still stuck to them but paused. He wonders, for a moment, if he should mention how the little’s girls scream made him feel. He knows that he should, he was to write everything down, no matter how small, but something in him told him that he shouldn’t. He stared at the paper and tapping the tip of his pencil a few times. He could still hear her, the sound replaying in his head like a broken record. It made his stomach twist in an unusual way. He clenched his teeth. If it was making him feel this way, then it had to be important. He quickly scribbled a single sentence into the journal and closed it. He shoved it back into his backpack and instead pulled out his preapproved book. This one was about molecular biology. He picked back up where he left off on polymerase chain reaction and tried to ignore the urge to go back and erase what he wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm hella late on this. I'm sorry about that y'all. I wrote a chapter and felt super confident about it and then realized that I wanted at least one more chapter in front of it. I also rewrote it like five times lol I hope you enjoyed! Again I'm so sorry for the delay.


End file.
